Only Human
by samcallaghan
Summary: We're not perfect. In fact, we're broken almost beyond repair. We are neither angels nor demons- we are merely humans- flawed, angry, loving, caring, morally challenged beings. What separates us from the extremes, however, are our choices in life. [a series of character interactions; titles taken from Jessye Rian Jennings]
1. Philip Shea

_Please, don't look at me that way  
_ _don't tell me you're afraid of the dark inside me._

* * *

"Tivoli, population 1,953. A nice community," the brown-haired teenager read from the old sign. _Now with a temporary population of 1,954_ , he thought to himself, _and as nice as any New York village could possibly be._  
"Welcome home, Philip," Gabe Caldwell turned from the driver's seat to face his foster son, his response as sincere as the youth's sarcasm. After the long drive, nearly three hours of sitting silently together yet so alone in the pickup, Philip had finally spoken. Gabe didn't take any of Philip's behavior towards him too personally; after all, the kid had every right to be upset and resentful towards his short-term guardian. They had all met before, of course, with the Social Services worker, but there's a big difference between talking about what could be and suddenly living in that scenario.

Philip nodded his head in recognition more than gratitude, then turned back to his appropriately named 'everything fucking sucks' playlist. That playlist had started off almost as a joke, back when he was in middle school, and at this point he could find nothing remotely funny about thousands of sad songs. Each one seemed to be sung just for him, and each one could have been sung by him, if he could feel those emotions and not just have them blaring in his ears. At that thought, he started to make a new playlist- 'numb'.

 **Five weeks later...**

Maybe life wasn't all bad in the small town. Philip could sleep all day and listen to his music, pretending he was still back at home. At least Gabe certainly seemed to care enough, or maybe Helen just didn't give a shit about anything other than work. _Traffic cop who thinks she's all that because she used to work up in Buffalo. Wanted to settle down, be nice and domestic, and she got it. She got me, but I guess I'm more than she bargained for. And does she really think that-  
_ "Philip?" Helen called from the other side of his closed door. "Can I come in?"  
 _No, Helen, you can't. Leave me here, and only come back when Mom is with you, and I can go with her._ "Sure," Philip answered as he opened the door. Dressed in the same pair of sweats he'd had on for four days, with his hair a tousled mess, it was obvious to everyone in the house that the sad-eyed boy was in more pain than he would ever admit. The sheriff tried to disguise her self-disappointment before she spoke, however, when Philip looked back at her, she saw the word that he so desperately wanted her to say: pity. That to her, he would only be a basket case.

 _I'm trying my best, Philip._ "You feeling okay?" _Stupid question- look at him. What about him is okay?  
_ The boy cleared his throat before he replied. "Yeah, um, I'm just adjusting to being here." Looking around the room it was clear that Philip had no intention of ever being settled - all of his clothes were still in the worn navy-blue duffel bag, and the rest of his belongings remained in his over-the-shoulder bag. When Philip had first arrived in Tivoli, he'd acted like this, and after about two weeks he had felt comfortable enough to unpack. Now, only his essentials - his phone, iPod, and their chargers - and of course the necessities that hadn't seen much use - remained on top of the lone dresser.  
"We understand that you need your time to get accommodated," Helen tried to make eye contact with her foster son as she spoke. "And as you know, school starts next week. I was wondering if you needed anything for classes, or if you wanted to delay -"

"-why would I want that?" Philip's eyes looked up to meet Helen's. "What, you think I'm not ready? That I can't handle myself? Yeah, sure, that's going to go down well with everyone- the new kid in town who can't go to school on the first day because he's scared." Philip's voice shook with rage and self-mockery as he began to rant at Helen. _Who does she think I am?_ "Let's give the newbie some special treatment, sure, put some pathetic little city kid in the spotlight where he belongs. Might as well tape a sign on me that says 'please be my friend' and by the end of the day I'll end up in some Dumpster with my face punched in." The agitated teenager paced around now as he spoke, his volume increased loud enough for Gabe to show up in the bedroom doorway.

"Everything all right?" Gabe asked, in his usual calm tone, his eyes surveying the scene for warning signs of bad news.  
"You, too?" Philip sneered. "Both of you just leave me alone!" He advanced on the couple, causing them to stand in the hallway.  
"Philip-"  
"- I forgot - you're a cop, so who can I report you to for trying to watch me as I dress?" Philip slammed the door and bolted the lock shut. In a fury, he dumped the contents of his bags onto the bed, pulling out clothing at random while he stripped out of his pants. Within a minute he was dressed in jeans, sneakers, an old t-shirt, and his Grandpa's Ranger jacket. He grabbed his iPod and wallet, purposefully leaving the phone behind because that bitch didn't think he knew she would track his GPS location to keep tabs on him. Ignoring whatever she and Gabe were saying about him, Philip stormed out of the front door to grab his bike. He pedaled fast into town, knowing that he didn't have a particular destination in mind. _Not like this fucking shithole has anything in it.  
_

After half an hour of biking around aimlessly, Philip's emotions had become more worn out than his body. _I can feel again, although I'm not sure that's a good thing._ Breathing deeply, he settled his bicycle on the side of a small convenience store and debated which ID to use. _Except everyone knows everyone here, so what's the point?_ Head down, shoulders slumped, with the door's little bell announcing his entrance, Philip purposefully moved to the back of the store. Starting from the last aisle, he walked up and down each one until he eventually reached the checkout with a bottle of Coke and a new pair of earbuds.  
"Can I get a pack of Marlboro's?" he asked the middle-aged cashier as she rang up his items. He could feel the harsh gaze she gave him like it pierced his chest, yet after a moment she rang up the pack and said, "That'll be $9.85. You take care, young man."  
Philip paid and took his small bag outside, looking up at the evening sky. He placed his bag next to his bike and took out his iPod to take panoramas of the setting sun. Photography helped clear his mind, and the sky was clear as well. He took some pictures of the sun, the surrounding trees, and the occasional squirrel crossing the narrow road. A few minutes later, beginning to feel like he was being watched, Philip slowly turned to find a tall blond his age sitting on a motocross bike a yard away from his own bike.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," the blond said with a smile, gesturing to Philip. His eyes reflected the honest friendliness of his smile, which confused Philip. Nonetheless, he snapped a picture of the stranger.  
"Do I get a name to go with the face?" Philip asked, a smile at the corner of his own lips as the tall guy approached him. _What does he want from me? There's no way he only wanted a head-shot.  
"_Lukas,"he answered, holding out his hand to see the picture Philip had taken. "Man, that's amazing."  
"It's just a profile," Philip shrugged, secretly pleased with himself that this guy appreciated the lighting and framing of his shot.  
"So now that you got a name for the face, do I get a name for the photographer?" Lukas asked, returning the iPod to Philip.  
"Philip,"he replied with a grin on his face. _Maybe there are some good things here after all._


	2. Kamilah Davis

_Please, don't turn the other way  
I'm sorry, but I've strayed from the light that guides me._

* * *

The FBI partners had decided to meet in a small coffee shop to discuss the development (or lack thereof) of their recent case. Wearing his usual dark beanie and olive-green jacket, his bearded face calm and collected, Burlingame quickly found Kamilah Davis in the small crowd. Her curled light-brown hair set her apart from the rest of the customers, mostly students in hoodies getting a head start on their days. She sat alone at a small corner table with a tall cup of coffee, staring intensely at her phone. She glanced up as she heard his booted footsteps approach.  
"No need to get up for me," Burlingame addressed her, noting that she was on her way to stand up. "No need to get me anything, either. I've got enough caffeine in me to last three days," he said while he sat at the opposite chair.  
"Tablets in your coffee again?" Kamilah asked, already knowing the answer, as she put her phone in her pocket.  
"You know that's right. At this rate, I'll need a new bottle soon, and I just refilled last week." Burlingame sighed. "Is it me, or is this whole Viscovi thing turning into a giant mess?"

Kamilah took a sip from her coffee and took her time before she responded. "It's not just you. This entire heroin operation- something's not right with it. I mean, the Viscovis have their base in the county, but they must have a bigger plan than simply running drugs into the city. They never plan anything on a small scale, and we've gotten no new intel recently. It doesn't help that Mithat Milonkovic isn't meeting with them and still in good standing with the public." After taking a deep breath, she said, "We need an inside man."  
Burlingame looked questioningly at his partner, his normally relaxed posture suddenly tense. "No way, Kami."  
"You don't even know what-" Kamilah began to angrily respond.  
"-You're going to offer yourself, if you can't get me to agree to volunteer myself. And the answer is no to both options for obvious reasons. Our chief explicitly told us to continue with the surveillance, and I know that we are both upset by the amount of useless crap we've discovered, believe me, I know. Not to mention the group is extremely selective, and one does not simply stroll into a drug ring." Burlingame tried to placate his partner and attempted to lighten the mood with an admittedly bad joke.

Without the slightest glimpse of a smile, Kamilah simply said, "Chris Petronelli," in response.  
"Who?" Burlingame got caught off his guard.  
"A... friend of mine. He's with the Viscovi Brothers now but willing to cut a deal." Kamilah wouldn't meet her partner's eyes as she spoke.  
"A friend? Shit, Davis, what were you thinking, contacting him? He knows you're part of law enforcement, and even if he personally doesn't out you-"  
"-it could somehow be known to the rest of the gang that he's with me? Yeah, we talked about it," the younger agent remained steadfast in her pitch.

It didn't take an agent to look at Kamilah's face and recognize that Chris Petronelli was more than a friend, but Burlingame was respectful and more than that, he trusted his partner with his life, so he let that not-so-minor piece of information slip. "You're serious, then?"  
Kamilah drank from her coffee for a long moment, put it down, picked it up again for another sip, and finally collected herself. When she spoke, her tone remained even and intelligent, without an ounce of impulsiveness. "Absolutely. He had mentioned to me that there's a possibility of a Poughkeepsie meet-up soon between Mithat and Angel Viscovi to work on a shipment deal of 70 kilos a week."  
Burlingame let out a low whistle. "70 kilos?! I'll admit it's a great opportunity for an interception and a near-perfect bust," he deeply exhaled, "and I trust you on this Kami, which is why we're going to run it by the chief first."

Standing up at the same time, having reached an agreement, Agents Burlingame and Davis exited the shop and continued walking down the street in silence.  
"I'll meet you back at the office as soon as I can. I'm going to speak to our mutual friend," Kamilah said after a minute.  
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Burlingame asked, and the look on Kamilah's face made him instantly regret that decision.  
"You think I'm going to mess this case up, is that it? Don't you trust me?" If she had looked angry before, she now seemed outright vengeful as she lengthened her pace down the pavement. _I should've known this would happen, and just kept this between me and Chris. Except being a member of law enforcement doesn't place me above those laws; give me rights that others don't have. Look at where honesty gets you, though..._  
"Wait up, Kami," Burlingame spoke in his usual calm manner, walking faster to match her pace. When he said her nickname, she suddenly turned around. "Please, you gotta know I'm looking out for you."  
"I'm not your Kami anymore," she said, all the anger in her voice replaced by longing. "I'll see you in a couple of hours." _One conversation with an ex, done. One more to go._ Kamilah had reached her car, settled down in the driver's seat, and took out her phone. Dialing the familiar number, she thought for what felt like the millionth time, _what the hell am I thinking?_

"Hey," came the cheerful voice on the other end of the phone, with the sound of a happy baby in the background. "Any specific reason for calling, or do you miss me?"  
Even though he was mostly teasing, Kamilah wasn't in the mood for casual banter. "Is Sita around?" she asked.  
"Just us guys here," Chris responded. "Don't worry, Sita's fine, she just left her phone at home; went out for a short walk. And by 'guys', I mean me and junior. Say hi to your aunt Kami, Jake," Chris held the phone near his son's mouth, and Kamilah could hear his cute little chuckles.  
"Good to know it's just the family, then. Listen, about what you told me last week- it's not official yet, but you might want to prepare yourself," the agent spoke cautiously. _How am I able to be like this, like everything is okay, when I'm secretly putting my sister's husband in danger? No wonder Burlingame is concerned._

"You still there?" Chris asked, the sound of his son faded in the background.  
"Huh?" came Kamilah's response, as definite as a 'nope, I got no clue what you just said'.  
"I was putting Jakey back into his bassinet and telling you not to worry. I can handle myself," Chris's voice was full of confidence and strength, and neither of them doubted his words.  
"It's not just you I'm worried about," Kamilah quietly replied. _What if the Viscovis find out, and take out their anger on Sita? Or little Jake?  
"_Your sister just called," she could hear Chris tell Sita. "You want to talk?"  
Kamilah hung up before Sita could say anything. _She already suspects something between us, and there's no reason for this to turn into an argument. Besides, I called her phone, not his, and could call back later to say that I got pulled into a last-minute meeting. Is this how life is going to be from now on- looking at others, hearing them speak, and seeing this darkness in me?_

Putting on her seat-belt, turning on the radio to whatever mindless morning talk-show she could find, Kamilah started her car and began the drive back to the city.


	3. Anne Shea

_I may have fallen from my grace  
but there is something left to save._

* * *

"Philip?" the murmured question lazily rolled off Anne's drugged tongue, the woman splayed over the worn couch outside. The pattern of the couch was gritty and rough, leaving its unpleasant mark on the woman's back. Rain slowly fell from the late spring sky, providing a light shower in the early morning. As the droplets passed over Anne, realization dawned on her as the rain ushered in the dawn. Another late night out with Billy, just the two of them dancing, had escalated into a much more intense situation within minutes. _Shit. I can't believe I let this happen. Again. No, I can believe it and that's what makes this so much worse._

Anne, dressed in what once used to be a brightly colored sundress and no shoes, attempted to lift herself off the faded yellow-brown couch. With a groan, she sat up, only to be greeted immediately with waves of nausea and a pounding headache. Light brown hair covering her dazed eyes, weary from the past night's events (hell, from life's events), Anne Shea collapsed onto the cement patio.

"Mom?" the teenager's soft voice pierced through the fog that surrounded her head. "Mom, can you hear me?" Philip's voice wavered as he stared at this mother. She had vomited and fallen into her own sick, and Philip could only guess how long she had been in that position for. He crouched down by her side, the rain falling harder on them both now, and rolled her onto her back. Fresh needle marks were visible in the crooks of her elbows, and the rest of her body didn't look much better than a halloween gypsy zombie.

Philip pulled the towel out from beneath his jacket and began to wipe the vomit from his mother's face. When he had woken up an hour before, lazily making his way through their small apartment as he readied himself for school, he noticed that his mom was no where to be seen. _Not a surprise, not a big deal. But it is a big deal._ Philip's head raced with concerns, and he settled for taking a towel outside, hoping that his mom would soon be walking across the patio or maybe sitting on the couch for a bit. _We're gonna need more towels._ The combined effort of Philip's towel and nature's heavy rain allowed Anne to be superficially clean in couple of minutes. Leaving the dirty towel on the ground beside the couch and its occupant's puddle of sick, Philip placed his arms beneath his mother's and lifted her up as gently as he could. He shifted her so he was carrying, rather than dragging her, to their front door. He gave the flimsy door a kick and walked his mother to the proper couch inside. _Not that it's much better than the one outside, but at least this one doesn't risk unwelcome pests. Except for Billy._

Laying Anne on the softer couch, Philip went to retrieve another towel, a blanket, a bottle of water, and one of Gatorade. He paused by the bathroom medicine cabinet, debated whether or not to get any pain relievers, and shook his head as he walked down the small hallway back to his waiting mom. Once at the sofa, he knelt by his mother's side and carefully laid the towel over her torso and the blanket over her waist. _At least she's shivering and breathing. That means she's got a pulse._ _It's strange how you sometimes hear parents tell their child, 'this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you' before they punish their children. Right now, she can't even feel hurt and yet we're both suffering through hell._

Philip alternated between pouring water over his mother's forehead (holding one hand over her closed eyes to avoid the risk of her opening her eyes to a burst of water) and slapping her cheeks in an attempt to restore her to consciousness. Once the bottle was emptied, and a pink tinge rested on her cheeks, Anne began to shiver more violently. _Almost there, just open your eyes and see me. Open your eyes and talk to me. Hell, vomit again, I don't care, just please wake up. I know I've caused you so much pain, I know that you didn't know about me until my father was already gone, I know life is hard and I hate it, too. But if you wake up - when you wake up - I swear I'll be better. I swear on my own life that I'll do my best to make yours better._ Tears silently escaped the young man's brown eyes, ran down his cheeks in rivers, and pooled onto the floor. Philip closed his eyes, salty tears still flowing, and sat down on the floor, unsure of what to do. He was accustomed to these scenarios, no doubt about it, but he was clearly tired. She was clearly tired, or this wouldn't have been the third time in two weeks that she was blacked out. This wouldn't have been the third time, however, that Philip had made his promise. Not by a long shot.

Anne's sixteen year old son knew the rules; he had know them since he was old enough to piece together the jagged bits of their life. For most of his short life, Philip knew that family meant looking out for each other, and the rules kept the family together. You made it through the day, and if the day fucked you over, you either got over it and dealt with it naturally or chemically. Always keep water and electrolytes handy, learn how to cook canned foods, and the most important rule: keep your mouth shut. The ultimate irony of that last crucial rule was that it had never been spoken out loud; it was just basic survival for the small family. _As much as I love her, and want to make her happy, her health does come first. And I know we have basic state insurance coverage and I'm not supposed to say anything about our 'situation' to anyone (not like anyone would ever want to talk to me), but she's deteriorating. She's fucking **dying**. Maybe the neighbors will call Social Services again, and they can make their favorite threat. 'Next time we have to come back here, the kid's coming with us and she's going to the state.' Damn, what kind of person secretly wishes this for their family? What kind of son am I?_

"The really fucked up kind," Philip muttered under his breath. A raspy cough emerged from Anne's chest."Philip? Baby, are you there?" Anne asked again while her bloodshot eyes fluttered son stood up in response. "Yeah, Mom, I'm here," he tried to keep his voice calm for her sake. If he showed his irritation, she would become the scared child and start begging and apologizing, and Philip couldn't bring himself to deal with that behavior. He held up the bottle of Gatorade to his mother. "Do you want me to get you a straw?"Anne nodded and slowly sat up, managing to avoid nausea this time. "Thank you," she said, her glazed eyes locking onto her son's faded made his way into the kitchen and searched through the drawers for one of the paper-wrapped straws he had taken from the school's cafeteria. Feeling his phone vibrate in the pocket of his rain-soaked jeans, Philip removed the phone with a look of dread on his face. Bracing for impact, he silently answered the phone while continuing to open cabinets in search of a straw.

"This is a courtesy call to inform you that your child, Phil-lip She-eah," the robotic automated voice began as Philip found a straw for his mother, "is absent from school today, 5 June. The semester will end in nine days, and if your child misses those days, he or she risks the penalty of summer school. If your child has an appointment scheduled and will attend later, press 1. If - "Philip hung up his phone, placed it back in his pocket, and returned to the living room. "Here," he gently said as he handed her the paper-wrapped straw. "Sorry it took me so long."

 _Don't apologize to me, baby. You have nothing to be sorry about, ever. I'm sorry I'm putting you through this, and I know it doesn't seem like it because this keeps happening but I love you honey I love you so much I-_ Anne slightly smiled as she accepted the straw. _As long as I have you, I'll be okay. We'll be okay, Philip._ She desperately wanted to say something, anything, to her son to let him know how she felt. _How can I talk to him if I can't think straight?_

"I'll get better, I swear." Philip's mom's hair hung loosely around her gaunt face, her brown eyes criss-crossed, unable to directly look at her son. _Maybe eye contact is a bad idea. I hate seeing my damage reflected in his beautiful eyes._


End file.
